Lawyer Trap

34





DAY SIX–SEPTEMBER 10

SATURDAY


In Davica’s spare bedroom, Teffinger twisted and tossed in bed half the night, going back and forth on whether he should buy the Corvette. The seller liked him and offered a good deal last night, a steal-of-a-deal in fact; but stressed he could only hold it until noon today. Lots of other people were calling and wanting to see it. The car was everything Kwak described, namely a primo representative of classic American muscle. But, even at a good price, it was still a pretty penny. To get it in his garage would take every bit of his savings plus a small loan.

But it was so damn beautiful.

Not to mention a sound investment.

It would never go south in value.

He already pictured himself driving it on Sunday afternoons with the top down and the Beach Boys blasting.

“Just get it,” he told himself.

Too excited to sleep any longer, he crawled out of bed, peeked in on a still-sleeping Davica, and then took a jog, thinking it over one last time before he committed. When he got back to the house, he called the seller and left a message that he’d take the car and would be over before noon with the money.

There.

Done.

He hit the shower and got his mind back on the case. The four murders were connected. If he could crack one, then the others would follow. But which one was the weakest link?

Probably Rachel Ringer.

That killer was the most extreme and would probably stand out the most. Plus the law firm was eager to help. She was also the one who cried out the most for justice. No one should have their head cut off, especially while they were alive.

He toweled off and found Davica in the kitchen, firing up the coffee and wearing a short pink nightie. Every time he saw her, he was shocked at how beautiful she was.

“Morning, wet-head,” she said. “So did you decide to get it, or what?”

He nodded.

“Yep—guilty of stupidity.”

“I knew you would.”

He smiled.

“Even I didn’t know I would until thirty minutes ago.”

“I knew last night,” she said.

“Meaning what? That you know me …”

“… better than you know yourself?”

He shook his head.

Beaten.

They picked the car up shortly before noon. Teffinger gave the seller two checks and told him not to cash the second one until Tuesday. The seller trusted him, gave him the keys and a bill of sale, and said, “Remember. None of us really ever owns a car like this. We just save it for the next guy.”

Teffinger drove it back to Davica’s, parked it in the driveway and drooled on it for over an hour while Davica washed her Lotus. Then she said, “Why don’t you pull it in the garage? We’ll get in the back and you can feel me up.”

Later that afternoon, Teffinger left the Corvette in Davica’s garage and took the Tundra home to get a jump on all the dreaded, time-wasting tasks that came with being alive—clothes washing, house cleaning, food shopping, bill paying, checkbook balancing, and a thousand other little things that were already long overdue.

He was halfway through food shopping at the King Soopers in Green Mountain, trying to not buy too much junk food, when his cell phone rang. A female’s voice came through. “This is Aspen Wilde, the attorney. You said I should call you if anything happened.”

She sounded panicked.

He listened patiently, hung up, and then walked over to a young lady stocking the shelves with cans of corn. “See that cart over there?” he said, pointing. “That’s mine but I have to leave. There’s some frozen stuff in there that someone’s going to need to put back. I’m really sorry about this.”

He kicked himself in the ass all the way over to Aspen’s apartment.

He was to blame.

He should have never put her face on the news.

He had turned her into a target.